®I?e 


.&tjtrj} nnh §>imq of 


!iark Hobtfurk 


&£ 


Sara g>tg^ra0tt 


l|arp£r & Staters fuhltBlf^ra 

1906 



5» ybys- 



LIBRARY of CONGRESS 

Two Copies Received 

OCT !6 1906 

^opyt'lsht Entry . 

A XXc, No 
/nT3 <?$ ^ 
COPY B. 



Copyright, 1906, by Harper & Brothers. 



All rights reserved. 
Published October, 1906. 



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Hark ftvbttuk 



THIS is the story of Black Earl 
Roderick, the story and the song 
of his pride and of his humbling; 
of the bitterness of his heart, and of 
the love that came to it at last; of 
his threatened destruction, and the 
strange and wonderful way of his 
salvation. 

So shall I begin and tell. 

He left his gray castle at the dawn 
of the morning, and with many a 
knight to bear him company rode, 
not eager and swift, like a prince 




^ 



who went to find a treasure, but 
steady and slow, as we should go to 
meet sorrow. Not one of the hun- 
dred men who followed dared to lilt 
ft a lay or fling a laughing jest from his 
J mouth. All rode silent among their 
gay trappings, for so saith a song: 

It was the Black Earl Roderick 
Who rode towards the south; 

The frown was heavy on his brow, 
The sneer upon his mouth. 

Behind him rode a hundred men 
All gay with plume and spear; 

But not a one did lilt a song 
His weary way to cheer. 

So stern was Black Earl Roderick 

Upon his wedding-day, 
To none he spake a single word 

Who met him on his way. 



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And of those that passed him as he 
went there were none who dared to 
bid him God-speed, and only one 
whispered at all; she was Mora of 
the Knowledge, who was picking 
2 




herbs in a lonely place and saw him^ 
ride. 

" There goeth the hunter," said she ; 
" 'tis a white doe that thou wouldst 
kill. High hanging to thee, my lord, 
upon a windy day!" 

And of all the flying things he met^^s 
in his going, one only dared to putS 
pain upon him, and she was a honey- 
bee who stabbed his cheek with her(: 
sword. ^ 

"Would I could slay thee," she^ 
cried, "ere thou rob the hive of its 
honey!" 

And of all the creeping things that 
passed him on his way, only one tried 
to stay him; she was the bramble 
who cast her thorn across his path so 
his steed wellnigh stumbled. 

" Would I could make thee fall, 
Black Earl, who now art so high, 
ere thou rob fruit from the branch!" 

Only one living thing upon the 
mountains saw him go without 
mourning, and he was the red 
3 



<3V 
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weasel who took the world as he 
found it. 

"Tears will not heal a wound," 
saith he, "but they will quench a 
fire. Thy hive is in danger, bee," 
quoth he. "Bramble, thy flowers 
are scattered and thy fruit lost." 

But the Black Earl did not heed 

or hear anything outside his own 

| *p thoughts. They were sharper than 

Ml. 

When he reached the castle where- 
in his bride did dwell, he blew three 
blasts upon the horn that hung be- 
side the gate, and in answer to his 
call a voice cried out to him. But 
what it said I shall sing thee, lest 
thou grow weary of my prose: 



vJthe bee's sword and less easy to cast 
^ aside than the entrapping bramble. 




P 






"Come in, come in, Earl Roderick, 

Come in or you be late; 
The priest is ready in his stole, 

The wedding guests await." 

And then the stern Earl Roderick 
From his -fierce steed came down; 



The sneer still curled upon his Up, 
His eyes still held the frown. 

He strode right haughtily and quick 

Into the banquet-hall, 
And stood among the wedding guests, 

The greatest of them all. 




He gave scant greeting to the throng, 

He waved the guests aside : 
"Now haste/ for I, Earl Roderick, 

Will wait long for no bride/ 

"And I must in the saddle be 

Before the night is gray; 
So quickly with the marriage lines, 

And let us ride away." 

And now shall I tell thee how, as, 
he spoke thus proud and heartlessly,' 
his little bride came into the hall? 
So white was she, and so trembled ^^SP 
she, that many wondered she did not 
sink upon the marble floor and die. 

Her mother held her snow-white @ 
hand, weeping bitterly the while. 

"If I had my will," thought she, <s . 
"this thing should never be. Oh, & 
sharp sorrow," sobbed she, "this for <^> 
5 



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a woman: my trouble thou art, and 
my thousand treasures." 

Her father, seeing the frowning 
Earl, muttered in his beard: 

"Would there were some other 
way. Stern is he and hard, to wear 
a young maid's heart." And then 
aloud he spoke, laying his hands 
upon the yellow curls of his child: 
"This is the golden link that binds 
£* the clans. God's sweet love be upon 
M her head, for she hath healed a cruel 
and evil quarrel between the two 
houses. Lift up your voices, my 
comrades, and make ye merry; it is 
a good deed you have helped in 
to-day." 

Now, when the guests turned with 
their laughter and gentle jesting to 
the newly married pair, the Black 
Earl relented not his frown. With 
scant courtesy and brief good-bye 
he mounted upon his fretting steed, 
vowing he could no longer stay. Up 
before him they lifted the young bride. 
6 




"Tis a rough place to carry the 
child," wept the sad mother. 

But her father smiled upon the 
Black Earl. 

"Where but upon his heart should I? 
she rest? Is that not so, my son?" S^M 

"If it be not cold," muttered the # ^ 
sullen bridegroom, drawing his rein. 

"Wrap thy cloak about her," 
cried the father, waving farewell. 

"Wrap thy love about her," wept_ 
the mother, hiding her face. % 

So rode the Black Earl and his" 1 
bride, followed by his sullen men-at- 
arms, gay with their wedding favors. 

To his weary little bride he spoke 
no gentle word, though she fluttered 
weeping upon his breast like to some 
wounded thing. 

For in his heart the gloomy Earl 
spake bitterly, and said he: 

" Not upon thy hand did I hope to 

place my golden ring ; I have put my 

own true love aside, to keep the clans 

together, and wedding thee thus 

7 



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been false to the desires of 
my heart, so do I turn from thee 
who art my bride." 

Thus did he take her to his castle 
in silence, and, lifting her from his 
steed, bid her enter the strong gates 
before him. 

So shut they with a clang upon her 

youth and her merry heart, and she 

§ became the neglected mistress of the 

gray towers she had looked on from 

Vjjf afar, and bride of the great Earl she 

had dreamed of so long. 

But to the Black Roderick she was 
! as nothing ; he sought her not, neither 
did he speak of her; she was but the 
cruel small hand that closed upon his 
heart and drew it from its love, 
claiming him in honor her own. 
And to her claim was he faithful, 
turning even his thoughts away, lest 
he should be false to his vow. But 
no more than this did he give her. 

So was she left alone, the young 
bride who did not understand a 
8 




i 

man's ways, and, fearing where she \ 
loved, hid from his presence lest he^ 
should look upon her in hate. Oft 
had she dreamed of the wonder of- 
being the wife of this proud Earl, in 
trembling desire and hope, hearing 
her parents speak of him and of the^j^ 
troth. Oft had she listened to their «-* 
murmured words, as they spoke of 
the clans and the peace these two I 
could bring. 

" Stern he is, and black for the p ] 
young child," said her mother, "and ^ 
I am afraid"; but the child stole 
away to the hill behind her father's 
castle, and there looked into the valley 
of Baile-ata-Cliat to watch the white 
towers of the Black Earl glistening 
in the sun, to dream and to tremble. 

And as she gazed a honey-bee 
hummed in her ear, "Go not to the 
great city." 

And as she smiled she raised her 
hand between her eyes and the far- 
off towers so she could not see. 
9 



^ 



<3^ 




^ 

%, 



Nay," quoth she, "it is a small 
place; my hand can cover it." 

"Ring a chime," saith she to the 

s; heather shaking its bells in the wind, 

"ring for me a wedding chime, for 

I am to be the bride of the Earl 

Roderick." 

She kissed the wild bramble lifting 
its petals in the sun. 

"I shall return to thee soon." 

And so, springing to her feet, she 

fWran laughing down the hill, and as 

she ran the spirit of the hills was 

with her, blowing in her eyes and 

lifting her soft hair. 

"I shall return to thee soon," she 
said again, and so entered her father's 
house and prepared herself for her 
betrothed. 

What of her dream was there now ? 
She was indeed the Earl's bride, but, 
alack! she was divorced from his 
heart and was naught to his days. 

Never did she sit by his knee when 
he drew his chair by the fire, weary 
10 



^> 




from the chase, nor lean beside hinn: 
while he slept, to wonder at her hap- 
piness. Down the great halls she 
went, looking through the narrow 
windows on the outside world, as a 
brown moth flutters at the pane, 
weary of an imprisonment that had 
in its hold the breath of death. 

Weary and pale grew she, and 
more morose and stern the Black fc 
Earl, and of their tragedy there _ 
seemed no end. But when a year^ 1 
had nigh passed, one rosy morning 
a servant-lass met Black Roderick 
as he came from his chamber, her 
eyes heavy with tears. 

And of what she said I shall sing, 
lest thou grow weary of my prose : w VfiP 

"Alas/" she said, "Earl Roderick, & 

'Tis well that you should know ^ 

That each gray eve, lone wandering, ^ 

My mistress dear doth go. 

"She comes with sorrow in her eyes <^ 5J * 

Home in the dawning light; <Sfc> 

a II 




My lord, she is so weak and young 
To travel in the night." 

Now stern grew Black Earl Roderick , 

But answered not at all; 
He took his hunting harness down 

That hung upon the wall. 



^ 



Then quickly went he to the chase, 
And slowly came he back, 

And there he met his old sweetheart. 
Who stood across his track. 



So shall I tell how she, sighing and 
white of face, laid her soft hand upon 
his bridle-rein so he could not go from 
her. Her breath came out of her like 
the hissing of a trodden snake, poison- 
ing the ear of the horseman. 
I "Bend to me thy proud head, 
$ Black Earl," quoth she, "for it shall 
be low enough soon. This is a tale I 
bring to thee of sorrow and shame. 
Bend me thy proud neck, Black 
Roderick, for the burden I must lay 
upon it shall bow thee as the snow 
does the mountain pine. Bend to 
me thine ear." 

12 



^ 



&3 



To him then she said: 

"Where goeth your mistress?" 

"What care I?" said the Black 
Earl, "since she be not thou." 

"If she were I," said his lost love, Hj> 
"she would seek no other save thee 
alone." /* 

"What sayest thou?" said the^ 
Black Earl, pale as death. 

"Each night she goeth through |f 
the woods of Glenasmole to the hilli^f 
of brown Kippure, and there lingereth | 
until the dawn be chill." 

"Who hath her love?" saith the 
Black Earl. 

"A shepherd, or mayhap a swine- ^ 
herd — who knoweth?" quoth the ser- * 
pent voice. "By no brave prince 
art thou supplanted." 

At this the Black Earl struck his 
hand upon his breast. 

"Lord pity me," quoth he, "that 

in my time should come the stain 

upon our honored house! My name, 

that was so white, shall now blush 

13 












^red. My proud ancestors will curse 
me from their tomb. Let thou go 
my rein, that I may seek this wanton 
and give her ready punishment." 

So quick he drew the rein from 
her hand that she wellnigh stumbled. 
And like one bereft of mind he rode 
through the woods and up the hill 
seeking his false bride. High and 
^llow he searched, but no sign of his 

KM, 



Out 



WW/* 



Clost mistress did he discover. 

% in the distance he saw the shining 



I city of Baile-ata-Cliat, on the near 
wood side of which his gray towers 






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stood. He could see the flag on its 
topmost turret waving in the breeze 
like a beckoning finger calling him 
back from his futile search. He 
turned him about, and on every side 
of him were the shadowy mountains 
watching him and appalling him 
with their mystery. Impatient he 
turned his eyes upon the ground; a 
bramble moving in the wind cast it- 
self about his feet. He crushed it 



14 




under his heel. A bee darting from) 
one of the trodden flowers made a 
battle-cry, and bared her sting for^ 
his neck. He struck it down among 
the leaves ; following its fall, his eyes, 
drawn by some other eyes, rested on 
a hollow by a stone. There he saw^ggj 
gazing at him the whiskered face of 
a red weasel, looking without pity, 
without fear. 

"Evil beast!" said the Black Earl,^ 
glad to speak, for the silence of all 1 ^ 
the listening things who watched 
him made his heart beat with un- 
wonted quickness, and he knew they^s 
were so many silent judges read-S 
ing the evil of his soul. "Get v 
thee gone," quoth the Black Earl. 
"Darest thou gaze upon me without 
fear?" 

But the red weasel, resting at the 
doorway of his hole, did not blink a 
lid of his sharp eyes. 

"Who art thou that evil should 
droop ashamed before thee?" said a 
15 











^ 



6& 



voice, and the Black Earl turned as 
though a stone had struck him. 

Now, when he looked east and 
west, no one could he see, but when 
he turned him south, there among 
the trees he saw an old, bent wom- 
an gathering herbs. He turned his 
S horse and, full of rage, drove it 
towards her. 

"Was it not thy voice that hurt 
my ears as I stood upon the hill?" 
quoth the Black Earl, his tongue 
silken in his rage. 

"Nay," said the ancient crone; "I 
heard but the linnet's song upon the 
tree, and the sound of running water 
that is murmuring in the grove. 
Listen, and thou, too, shalt hear." 

"Nay," quoth she again, for the 
Black Earl scowled so at her that she 
feared to be silent. "If I said this 
thing, why should it vex the ear of 
so proud a knight? Yonder black 
rook did look into my face with an 
inquisitive eye as I plucked my herbs 
16 




and harmed no man, so I, angry at 
the wicked one, cursed him begone. 
As he flew affrighted at my hand, I 
turned my eyes into my own heart. "* 
The birds and I, do we not both root 
in the cold earth, seeking to draw 
from it our desires? Black and ill- 
looking, we dig all day. 'Who art 
thou,' quoth I to myself, 'that evil 
should fly before thee?' Wicked^, 
that I am," cried the witch, "andj 
sorrow upon me that my words havewCy 
vexed thine ears!" 

Now the Black Earl did look upon 
her in anger, and but half believed 
her tale. His trouble being heavy 
upon him, he bade her leave her 
lamenting and answer his ques- 
tion. 

"There is one," quoth he, "who 
doth wander upon the hill-side, far 
from her home, a lady of high de- 
gree; sawest thou any such," saith 
he, "for I have sought her long?" 

Now will I sing thee what was said 
17 



% 







0® 



( and what happened, lest thou grow 
weary of my prose : 



/ have not seen your lady here" 
The withered dame replied; 
"But I have met a little lass 

Who wrung her hands and cried. 

"She was not clad in silken robe, 
Nor rode a palfrey white, 
She had no maidens in her train. 
Behind her rode no knight. 

"But she crept weary up yon hill 
And crouched upon the sward; 
I dare not think that she could be 
Spouse to so great a lord." 

Now darkly frowned Earl Roderick, 

He turned his face away; 
And shame and anger in his heart 

Disturbed him with their sway. 

For he had never cared to know 
What his young bride would wear; 

He gave her neither horse nor hound, 
Nor jewels for her hair. 

Now shall I tell how the Black 
Earl clapped his hand upon his dag- 
ger, and said in a great rage: " Where 
18 




went this little lass, and whom hatti^f 
she by her side ? for whoever he be, I 
shall show to him no pity. Neither, 
shall her tears save her. Nor shall^ 
thy age serve thee, witch, if thou 
hast spoken not the truth. Whither 
went they, so I may follow, as the 
hound goes on the trail of the deer?'H 

"Oh, sharp sorrow thy anger is!" 
cried the old crone; "what can I say,|f 
save what my eye hath seen and my 
ear hath heard? The little lassj) 
passed me as I gathered my herbs ' 
under the dew. She hath by her 
side no lord nor lover. She went^y^g 
sad and alone. Here climbed she 1 ^ 
the height of the hill, and there sat 
she making her lament." 

"And what lament made she?" 
said the Black Earl, putting his dag- 
ger into its sheath. 

"Once called she on her father, as 

one who drowns in deep waters 

would call upon a passing ship. 

Twice called she upon her mother, 

19 




<3> 



<$SS 




x^m" 



^ 



^as one would call upon a house of 

rest or of hospitality. Thrice called 

she upon Earl Roderick, as one 

p| would call at the gates of paradise, 

there to find rescue and love." 

"And said she naught else?" said 
ggj. the Black Earl, his head upon his 
'SJj breast. 

"Yea," quoth the crone, "when 

I she called upon her father, she 

smiled through her tears. 'Didst 

SMthon know I perish,' quoth she, 'thy 

<y{ffi arms would reach to save me!' 

"And when she called twice upon 
her mother, her mouth smiled even 
the same, 'for didst thou learn my 
hunger, thy heart would warm me to 
life again ' ; but when she called three 
times upon Earl Roderick, she paused 
as though for an answer, and smiled 
no more. ' Thee, ' quoth she, ' I per- 
ish for, I hunger for. Thou lovest 
me not at all.' 

"So did she sit and make her 
moan upon the hill, and here watched 
20 



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she the lights in the far windows 
of her lost home quench themselves 
one by one. 'Now,' quoth she, 'my 
mother sleepeth, and now my father. J 
And now by all am I forgotten. ' i 
Then did she steal, in the dim light, t 
down from the hill, and I saw her no 
more." 

"What didst thou tell to her, old 
witch?" quoth the Black Earl, "as 
she passed weeping? Didst thouJJ 
speak to her no word?" 

"I stopped her as she passed me, 
proud Earl," quoth the crone, "for 
she was gentle, and held her head not 
too high to look upon one old and 
near unto death. 

"'Weep not,' said I, 'but spread 
to me thy fingers, so I may read what 
fate thou holdest in thy palm.' And 
like a child she smiled between her 
tears. 

"'Look only on luck,' quoth she, 
* oh, ancient one, lest my heart break 
even now. ' I spread her pink finger- 

21 



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out as one would unruffle a rose, 
'and read therein her fate." 

"And what read you there?" said 
the Black Earl, impatient with her 
delay. 

"I read," quoth the crone, "and 
if I say, thou must keep thy anger 
ffrom me, for what I read I had not 
written : 

"I traced upon her slender palm 
That luck was changing soon; 
I swore that peace would come to her 
Before another moon. 

11 1 said that he who loved her well 
Would robe her all in silk, 
And bear her in a coach of gold, 
With palfreys white as milk. 

"I told, before three suns had set 
He'd kneel down by her side; 
That he she loved would love her well, 
And she would be his bride. 



P> 



" 'This before three suns have set,' so 
czs read I," quoth the crone. 
*& Now, when the Black Earl heard 

22 



so much, he would hear no more. I 
Pallid grew his angry cheek, and his^ 
eyes were full of fire; he flung him- 
self upon his horse, and, sparing not; 
the beast, galloped home. 

"In the highest tower shall I lock 
the jade," quoth he, "lest she bring ^ 
me shame; for what her palm hadg?^ 
writ upon it one must believe, and 
who dare love her, save I who will^ 
not? And should I die, wherefore- 
should she not be another's? Andiffi 
should I not die — but this no man' 
dare, for I shall tear his tongue from 
his mouth, his ear from his cheek, his 
heart from his body, ere he speak or 
listen to a word to my dishonor. " 

Now, when he reached his castle, ^WjJ 
no man ventured to speak to him, or 
look upon him with too inquisitive 

an eye, for his anger was such that ^ 
one trembled to approach him. 

And at the gate of his castle sat 
his old love upon her palfrey, with ^ 
a stern face and grim; behind her, -^ 
23 




resting upon their way, came her fol- 
lowers, knight and lady, gay with 
banner and spear, whispering in their 
telling of the story. 

"A curse upon the wandering feet 
that have brought disgrace upon thy 
house," quoth his old love, her hand 
so tight upon the rein that the two 
pages could hardly keep the horse 
rom rearing. 

But the proud Earl to her made no 
answer, neither to bid her welcome, 
nor to bid her go, nor to speak of 
his fears. Into his breast he locked 
his grief so that none might know 
the strain wellnigh broke the stony 
casket of his heart. 

When he leaped from his horse 
there came to him his little brother. 

"My grief!" said the boy, "what 
has happened in the night, for I 
heard the banshee sobbing so bit- 
terly through the dark?" 

No answer made the Black Earl to 
<j&> the boy, neither did he lift him in his 
24 







arms nor chide him for his weeping, 
but passed silent into his own cham- 
ber, and crouched within his chair. 
When after a time he raised his eyes, 
he seemed to see his young bride gaz- 
ing upon him from the open door. 
And in his anger he sprang to seize 
her, but only the empty air came to 
his hands. 

He mounted the marble stairs to 
her chamber to seek her there, but^ 
only found a sewing-maid, pale and 
deadly faint. 

"Oh, sharp sorrow," quoth she, 
"from what I have seen this night, 
Mary protect me! A white ghost *v 
have I seen — evil it may bring to me 
— a white ghost with dim eyes of the 
dead!" 

"Whither went she?" said the 
Black Earl, angry in his need. 

"Into thy chamber, great Earl!" 
cried the maid; "I saw her at thy 
bed-head weeping piteously." 

"It was thy lady," quoth the 
25 







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^#i 



arl; "lead me her way, and stop 
thy lamentation." 

"My grief!" the girl said, "her 
'way I know not; when I, deeming 
her my mistress, reached her side, 
she was no more. It is an evil day 
that cometh upon us." 

Now, when the proud Roderick 
saw the girl so full of fear, he chid 
her cruelly and bade her go. Yet 
when she had left him he felt a 
^strange and unwonted coldness settle 
" upon his heart. 

The anger against his young bride 
was quenched, and a dewlike fear 
grew upon him. But of what befell 
him I shall now sing to thee, lest 
thou grow weary of my prose: 



^ 






All silent Black Earl Roderick 

Went to his room away, 
Full angry, with his throbbing heart 

And fitful fancy's play. 

He sat him by the bright hearth-side, 
And turned towards the door; 
26 



And there upon the threshold stood 
His lady, weeping sore. 

He chased her down the winding stair, 

And out into the night, 
But only found a withered crone, 

With long hair, loose and white. 




"Come hither now, you sly-faced witch; 

Come hither now to me. 
Say if a lady all so pale 

Your evil eyes did see?" 

11 Oh, true, I saw a little lass, 
She went all white as snow; 

She crossed my hands with silver crown 
Just two short hours ago." 



11 What did you tell the foolish wench, 

Who must my lady be? 
The false tale you did tell to her 

You now must tell to me." 



"I hate you, Black Earl Roderick, 
You're cruel, hard, and cold; 

Yet you shall grieve like a young child 
Before the moon is cold. 








' ' This did I tell her, like a queen 
She'd ride into the town; 

And every man who met her there 
Would on his knees go down. 

3 27 



<3k 




W&Sp "^ sa ^ ^ at ^ e w ^° f°tt° we d none 
fjgk Would walk behind her now, 



gj ^^\&Jr And in his trembling hand the helm 
From his uncovered brow. 

yjx " Then he should walk, while she would ride, 
j Through all the town away; 
And greater than Earl Roderick 
She would become that day. 1 ' 

And now shall I tell how laughed 
.N>>SH^?f v, Sthe Black Earl aloud and scornful at 




£;-the witch's tale. 

I "No lady in the land," quoth he, 
\ " could so enslave me, and no woman 
I yet was born who hath my honor 
^f^^and glory." 

So spoke Earl Roderick, and by 

*$S these words shalt thou hold him, 

t^s ?J^ heart-whole and vain withal, for the 

hour of his sorrow had not yet 

^ struck. 

^ Now turned he to the dame, and, 
chiding her, bade her begone. 

"Thy tale," saith he, "is full of 
weariness. It hath neither wisdom 



sz> 



nor truth." 



28 



Turning from her in anger, horned 
went he, and flung himself before the' 
dying fire in his chamber, a frown 
between his brows. And again aj^ 
cold fear turned closely about his//£ 
heart. Raising his eyes, he saw no 
more terrible a thing than his young ^ 
bride, with a face of grievous pain,£ 
looking upon him from the door. ^ 
Then he spoke her gently. Wfx 

" Come," quoth he, " sad-faced one,^ 
why dost thou torment me? One^j 
question only shall I ask thee, and* 
this must thou answer. Whom hast 
thou met upon the hill? 
witch woman hath told me a weari-^ 
some tale, which I shall not lend my 
ear to." 

Now, when he spoke, his young 
bride neither answered nor came, 
but gazed from the threshold upon 
him in silence. So he got up in 
anger and went her way. Through 
the chamber strode he, and she was 
yet before him, and without sound 
29 



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^ J went she down the hall and stair. 
^So out through the open door, and 
the men-at-arms let her pass, though 
[the Black Earl bid them stay her 
feet, and gazed bewildered,' seeing 
only their stern master running alone, 
with fierce eyes, such as a hound 
Jdoth cast upon a young hare. Quick 
as the Black Earl ran, the little bride 
jwas before. 

Through sleepy woods and honey- 

p|| \% perfumed plains, all through the 

■■ %' night did he chase her, but never 

■1 once did he reach her, nor ever once 

, did she pause to rest. 

When the morning sun was high, 
she led him up to the lights of Brown 
Kippure, and there vanished from 
his sight. 

^ Now, when the Black Earl per- 

*> ceived this wondrous thing, he felt 
his heart sink with utter weariness, 
and without more seeking fell upon 
the moss. Had his eyes been not so 
hot with anger, slow tears of sorrow 
30 




pes 




though 



1 
said the ;i ^ 

3&i 



would have forced their way upon 
his cheeks, for now that he had her 
not his desire was strong upon him 
to behold his bride. 

As he lay upon the heather, he 
heard the shrill voice of his little 
brother clamoring by his side. 

"Be still," quoth he, "for 
hast frightened away a fair dream 
that I fain would follow." 

"But I would tell thee,' 
little brother, "of a strange thing, ij 
and one to set thee full of laughter." £ 

"Nay," quoth the Black Earl, "of £ 
that I have no desire, lest thou place ** 
upon my head a cap and bells, and^ r 
call me fool Roderick." 

"And wherefore," said the little 
brother, "shouldst thou laugh at fool 
Roderick?" 

"Because," quoth the Black Earl, 
"he hath found a strange jewel when 
he hath lost it." 

"Thy words I do not understand," 
saith the little brother. "What was 
31 



§35 





lithe strange jewel that he hath and 

yet hath not?" 
, ^ "Love," quoth the Black Earl. 
"That neither do I understand," 
saith the little brother, "but now 
thou must listen to my story." 

And of what he saith shall I sing, 
Sor his voice was sweeter than prose : 



p$j[*"Ok, brother, brother, come up to the lake 
waters gray, 

J^f&.Come up to the shore where I play; 
... K %(iFor, oh 1 1 saw on the bank asleep 

"A fair white nymph, and the slow waves creep , 
To bear her away, away. 

' ' Oh, brother, brother, I watched her through 

the day, 
Saw her hair grow jewelled with spray. 
Once her cheek was brushed by a robin's wing, 
And a -finch flew down on her hand to sing, 
And was not afraid to stay. 



^ 



P 



11 Oh, brother, brother, will she soon awaken 
be? 

I would that she laugh with me. 

She sleeps, and the world so full of sound; 
£& She's deaf, like the deaths that are under 
'3 the ground, 

e£> That I laugh and laugh to see." 

32 




Ik 
Now shall I tell how the Black? 

Earl heeded not the story of the 

little brother, nor the tragedy that 

lay therein, for his ear was busy withj* 

another sound. 

"Hush," said the Black Earl, "for 
hearest thou not a voice in trouble?" 

"Nay," cried the little brother; "Ig 
hear naught save the laughing stream ^j 
that comes from the lake where myp 
water-nymph lieth." 

"Hush!" said the Black Earl again,g 
"for hearest thou not the voice of my 
mistress making a lamentation?" 

"Nay," saith the little brother; 
"I hear naught save the moving of 
the reeds in the pushing waters, and ^ 
thou wilt not listen to my story." ^ 

Now went the little brother away 
in his anger, and found himself a play 
among the heather. 

But the Black Earl bent above the 
stream and gazed long into its shal- 
low turbulence with wonder and fear, 
for the words the stream said to him 
33 











% 



CK 



Sa 





^ 



in its whisperings were as though 
spoken in the voice of his young bride. 

He laid his hand in the flowing 
aters. 

1 'Why art thou troubled, little 
stream?" quoth he. 

But the little stream stayed not its 
■^whispering. 

' Sainted Mother, oh, pray for me!" 
it murmured, in piteous prayer, "and 
leave sweet mercy upon my soul." 
m Now, when the Black Earl heard 
* *the voice of his lady coming from the 
waters in such sorrow, he rose with a 
cry, and, his heart being full of fear, 
he knew at last the greatness of his 
love. 

"Where art thou, then?" he cried, 
in his woe. "Whither shall I seek 
thee?" 

But the little stream passing his 
feet murmured its prayer in going; 
no other sound did he hear save the 
far-away laughter of his little brother. 

"Oh, Mary, Mother, pray my soul 
34 



1@> 




to rest! Take mercy, Lord, on as 
soul afraid." 

"Where are the lips from which 
thou hast stolen that cry?" said the 
Black Earl; and, like an old man/*, 
bent with trouble, he sought the **! 
banks, seeking for the white form of*-.* 
his bride. "Now," quoth he, "well 
do I know this stream hath carried 
her last cry to my feet, and her% 
drowning lips have been forced toj^ 
sinful death to-night by my longw 
cruelty." 4W 

He went up the hill as a man goeth 
to despair, slow and afraid; and when 
he reached the little wood in whosex 
bosom the lake was enshrined, he 
paused and looked around. 

Of this shall I sing, for so sad and 
piteous it is that my harp would fain 
soothe me from tears : <m 

He looked into the deep wood green, 

But nothing there did see; <^ 

He looked into the still water 

Beneath, all white, lay she. <&> 

35 









^ 



j§> 



He drew her from her cold, cold bed, 
And kissed her cheek and chin; 

Loosed from his neck his silken cloak, 
To wrap her body in. 

He took her up in his two arms — 
His grief was deep and wild; 

He knelt beside her on the sod. 
And sorrowed like a child. 

He blew three blasts upon his horn; 

His men did make reply, 
And came all quickly to his call, 

Through brake and brier so high. 

And every man who saw her there 
Went down upon his knee; 

Behind her came Earl Roderick, 
All pitiful to see. 

And in his trembling hand the helm 
From his uncovered brow; 

And "Oh," he said, "to love her well, 
And know it only now!" 

So he did walk while she did ride 
Through all the town away, 

For greater than Earl Roderick 
She did become that day. 



£5 
^ Now have I said how the heart of 

«& the Black Earl woke to love, and 

36 




then was humbled, as the ancient^ 
crone had foretold; but of his sor- 
rowful years, his desperate danger of 
eternal loss and his after-salvation J 
must I likewise tell, if the story fi 
would be pitiful in the ending. 

Therefore shall I lay my harp,^] 
aside, and so go back in my telling, tfi^ ' 

And I bid thee remember how the ^yp 
little pale bride was wont to sit upon^f a 
the mountain and watch the farJJ 
lights in her father's home quench^ 
themselves one by one. 

So now of how she died shall I tell 
thee, and of what came to her in her 
passing, lest thou thinkest so inno- 
cent a child had laid violent hands 
upon her life, who only had met 
death through the breaking of her 
heart. 

Here sat she on the mountain, and 
the wild things spoke of her in her 
silence. The red weasel, the bee, 
and the bramble, and many others, 
moved to watch her. Well have 
37 







% 



<3> 





^ 



& 



s£> 



Hhey known her in her young joyful- 
ness; here had she made the place 
she loved best — the high brow of the 
hill where she sat as a child and 
watched — on the one side the far-off 
city and the white towers that held 
the wonder-knight of her dreams. 
Here had she sat and seen the gleam 
of his spear as he went with his 

%unters through the valley; and 
here, too, had her mother come to 
^ftell her of her betrothal, so she had 
nigh fainted in her happiness, in look- 
ing upon the white tower that was to 
be her home. 

Here had she learned the sweet 
language of the birds and flowers, 
and they, too, had partaken of her 
joys; but of her sorrows they would 
not understand, for our joys and our 
laughter, are they not as the singing 
of the bird and the dancing of the 
fly, who weep only when they meet 
death? In our griefs do we not 
stand alone, who have in our hearts 




the fierce desires of love and all the 
tragedies of despair ? 

Now, as the young bride turned 
her slow feet up the mountain, down 
where her glad feet had turned as a 
maid, she sat her there by the lake. 

The little creatures she was wont 
to love and understand gathered^ 
about her and wondered at her state. < 

"She hath returned," said the red£ 
weasel; "see where she sitteth, her^ 
head upon her hand. I slew a young 
bird at her feet, and she spake no'fi^ 
word, nor did she care." 

" It is not she," said a linnet, sway- 
ing on a safe spray, "for had it been 
she her anger would have slain thee." 

"It is she," said the red weasel, 
laughing in his throat; "but her eyes 
are hidden by her fingers, and she 
cannot see." 

"It is not she," said a brown wren. 
"Her cheek was full and rosy and 
her song loud. This one sitteth all 
•mute and pale." 

39 











% 







"It is she," said the red weasel, 

who sitteth upon the mountain, her 

face hidden between her hands. She 

m sitteth in silence, and who can tell 

;ft her thoughts ? She hath been to the 

$p great city." 

'It is a small place," hummed a 
ghoney-bee. "Once, long ago, she 
rj raised her white palm between her 
rf| e y es an d its smoke. 'See,' she laugh- 
jgjed, 'my little hand can cover it.'" 
" It is so great," said the red weasel, 
that those who leave the mountains 
; for love of it return to us no more." 
mJM' "Yet she hath returned," said a 
C^lone lark hanging in the sky, "and 
fqgl myself have sung beside her ear." 
'She came, yet she came not," 
said the red weasel. "What did she 
^ answer when thou saidst that I had 
f& slain thy mate?" 

"She sighed, 'Thou singest a gay 
song, O bird!'" hummed a golden 
beetle. "My grief! that she cannot 
e& understand." 

40 



JE> 



AZ$! 




"She is lost to us indeed!" said afe 
honeysuckle swaying in the wind 
"for she trod me beneath her feet 
when I held my sweet blossoms for £ 
her lips." 

"And she tore me aside," cried the 
wild bramble, "when I did but reach 
towards her for embrace." 

"She will know thee no more," 
said the red weasel; "she hath beenf- 
to the great city." 

"She laid her lips upon me ere she^ 
went," spake the wild bramble, "and 
said she would return to us soon." 

"She bid me ring a merry chime,' 
whispered the heather, "and I move 1 
my many bells now for her welcome, 
but she will not hear." 

"She will speak with thee no 
more," said the red weasel; "she 
hath walked in the city, like one 
goeth upon the fairy sleeping grass, 
and her soul hath forgotten us." 

"She is still and cold," said a shin- 
ing fly glancing through the air. "I 
41 




^ 







a measure under her 

and she did not see." 

'She is dead," said the honey-bee, 

£ 'for when she would not look upon 

me as before, I drew my sword and 

stung her sharply, but she did not 

stir. She sat and gazed into the dis- 

J||tance where the smoke like a great 

gray web lieth heavy. She is surely 

fMgdead." 

JfeL^ ' ' She is not dead, ' ' said the red wea- 
% \|sel ; " she hath been to the great city." 
"Maybe there she hath found 
Death," said the shining fly, "for his 
web reacheth far, and he loveth the 
dark places and hidden ways. He 
hideth, too, in the cool arbors of the 
wood, stretching a gray chain for our 
undoing. Maybe she found Death. 
^\ He spreadeth ropes of pearls across 

our path, and looketh upon us from 
the shade; when the dance is gayest 
he creepeth to spring. Maybe she 
hath reached for the pearls or hath 
e«a> danced into his net." 
42 



P 



JZ> 




And so the fly sang of the watcher •] 
in the wood, and his song I shall sing^ 
thee, lest thou grow weary of my 
prose : 

Deep in the wood's recesses cool 

I see the fairy dancers glide, 
In cloth of gold, in gown of green 

My lord and lady side by side. 

But who has hung from leaf to leaf, 

From flower to flower, a silken twine, ^ 

A cloud of gray that holds the dew 
In globes of clear enchanted wine, 

Or stretches far from branch to branch, 
From thorn to thorn, in diamond rain'. 
■ Who caught the cup of crystal wine 
And hung so fair the shining chain? 

'Tis death the spider, in his net, 

Who lures the dancers as they glide, S^&W y ^-t 
In cloth of gold, in gown of green, ^ p* 

My lord and lady side by side. 



But a dragon-fly rattling his armor 
said, without heed of the singer, 
"She is dead," for when she came 
among the heather the joyous spirit 
of the mountain met her and blew ®g, 
4 43 








upon her hair and eyes. He kissed 
.iry^pher worn cheek that he had known 

ft so f a * r > ano ^ the so ^ ra i n °^ n ^ s sor " 
v^row fell to see the pity of her brow. 
She passed all stiff and cold; she did 
not hear nor understand. 

"Wind," quoth she, "blow not so 
fierce." 

"She is not dead," saith the red 
^SF^ weasel; "she hath been to the great 

Now, when the young bride raised 
iTher white face from her hands and 
looked about her, she could neither 
hear the speaking of the birds nor 
see the beauty of the wild flowers, 
yet in her heart she had a memory 
of both. Turning to the little flying 
things that came about her with soft, 
^ beating wings, she said : 

^ "Once ye spake to me, and could 

give comfort with your counsel and 

love. Now ye are lost in the voices 

^ of the city that ring forever in my 

*& ears." 




44 




Gazing upon the flowers, she said : | 

4 'Ye, too, your beauty hath faded. 
The gaudy flowers of the city have 
flashed their color in my eyes, so yej| 
I cannot see or understand." 

Then she rose to her feet, though 
she scarce could stand, and, stretch- ^^^f 
ing her arms towards the great pur-^fi^ 
pie hills that surrounded her fa- ^fWy 
ther's far home, she said towards|3^fe^ 
it: 2* 

"Why didst thou call me back|^|p 
since thou hast let me go from the' 
sight of the heights that would have 
been always a prayer to uplift nry^ s 
soul? Ahone! that thy voice wasnj 
loud enough to follow and give me ^ 
unrest, that whispered always of my * 
father's house and the valley of my 
home. So must I come each eve 
upon this hill to look upon it from 
my loneliness. 

"Unloved am I, and unwished for, 
by him whom I have wedded. So 
my heart dieth within my breast, 
45 








% 



<3> 




^ 



p 



F> 



pa 



e® 



>and my soul trembleth on the brink 
of my grave. 

"Here upon the mountains, un- 
s§prayed for and uncoffined, shall my 
body lie, for thy voice hath called 
me forth. 

"Here my black sins shall see and 

4%pursue me even to destruction; but 

in the city I could have escaped with 

^the crowding souls that confuse Death 

to count." 

Then, as a remembrance of her 
sins came heavy upon her, she gave 
a loud cry and covered her face with 
her hands. 

So she stood without help upon the 
mountains, and because she was 
blind with the city dust and deafened 
with its cries, she stood alone. The 
pitying wild flowers blew their fra- 
grance to her eyes, but they would 
not open ; the gentle birds spoke com- 
forting whispers to her ears, but she 
could not hear; the great hills held 
their arms about her and breathed 
46 




their peace upon her brow. But this" 
she did not know, and so stood alone 
to face Death. 

First turned she her face to where> 
her father's castle stood on a far hill, 
and again turned she to see the white 
towers where she had lived and loved 
so vainly. And when her eyes met^ 
the glisten of the walls, her heart 
broke with a little sigh, and she fell 
upon the ground. And she laid her 
weary body down beside the waters^ 
of the mountain lake. Her head with 
its loosened hair lay in the waters, so 
her lips, covered by the murmuring 
ripples, breathed a prayer as she died 
for her passing soul. And the little 
stream that ran from the lake down 
the hill-side carried the prayer upon 
its breast as thou hast been told. 

Now, when the ghost of the little 
bride stood upright beside her fallen 
body, she was sore afraid, and trem- 
bled much to leave the habitation 
she had known in life. 
47 







% 







She laid her spirit-hands upon the 
jgcold dead, and clung to it as though 
,^ m she would not be driven forth. 
^MjMany and terrifying were the sights 
C$\ that met her when she opened her 
^eyes, after passing through the change 
of death. Many and terrifying were 
^JJ'HJjthe sounds that came to her ears, and 
\# she feared she would be whirled away 
/f €3 with the great clouds that passed her 
v -w^JJsf^and went like smoke into the skies. 
-<^)J// -°^ sne was an d drenched with the 
r#vC/2Wfl rain that fell everywhere around her ; 
•2 gray and misshapen were the moving 
fc-^ masses under her gaze ; and only where 
3her hands lay holding to her dead 
body did she see aught of the world 
she had left behind. There the sweet 
green grass lifted itself and a brier 
rose cast its blossom apart. There a 
bee sang, calling to her a little com- 
fort among all the strange sounds 
that filled her ears. 

As she listened, she found the 
noises that troubled her were the 




^ 






48 



f<\ 



cries of many voices, and as she be-\] 
gan to see more clearly in the great^ 
change that had come to her, she 
knew the shadowy clouds rushing J/ 
upward were the spirits of the dead/^S* 
on their dangerous swift way toV 
heaven. And as she raised her face 
to follow their flight the rain fell salt) 
into her mouth, so she knew it was 
the repentant tears of the passing'^" 
ghosts. 

So crouched she in that misty ^ 
world, seeing not the green earth \ 
and the purple hills, but only the 
whirling shapes about her on every 
side, flying from earth to heaven, 
pursued by their black sins. 

And one in the valley of Baile-ata- ^Pjt? g) 
Cliat, looking towards the mountains, 
said: 

"See how the clouds fly black and ^ 
fearful!" But it was the hosts of 
spirits flying upward. "See," quoth 
he, "how the lightning flashes!" 



C± 



But it was the opening of God's ^ 
49 






IJjHigh Paradise to receive some spir- 

yj^it wellnigh spent. "Hark," said he, 

how the wind moans and the rain 

^beats upon the window!" But it 

was the cry of the passing ghosts and 

their falling tears as their black sins 

^fought and kept them from heaven. 

Jig But one who was a singer took his 
harp and sang, for he understood. 

f^QHere is his song: 

|j 

$They say it is the wind in midnight skies, 
4 * Loud shrieking past the window, that 
doth make 
Each casement shudder with its storm of 
cries, 
And the barred door with pushing shoul- 
der shake. 



Ah no, ah no, it is the souls pass by, 

Their lot to run from earth to God's high 
place, 
Pursued by each black sin that death let fly 
From their sad flesh, to break them in the 
chase. 



£& They say it is the rain from leaf to leaf 
fxs Doth slip and roll into the thirsting 

*s® ground, 

So 




That where the corn is trampled 
sheaf 
The heavy sorrow of the storm is found. 

Ah no, ah no, it is repentant tears, 

By those let fall who make their direful A 
flight, H 

And drop by drop the anguish of their fears 
Comes down around us all the awful 
night. 

They say that in the lightning-flash, and 
roar 
Of clashing clouds, the tempest is about; 
And draw their chairs the glowing hearth1~^j 
before, 
And casement close to shut the danger out. 

Ah no! the doors of Paradise they swing 
A moment open for a soul nigh spent, 

Then come together till the thunder's ring \j 
Leaves us half blinded by God's element. 



Now, the spirit of the young bride 
was not yet called upon to join their 
terrible flight, for until her body was 
laid beneath the clay the soul had 
power to stay beside it. So stayed 
the spirit of the young bride by her 
dead body till her ghostly eyes grew 
5 1 















accustomed to the change which had 

come to her. And when she found 

she could see the brown earth again 

J! and the things thereon, she rose to 

w^j her feet, and ran down the moun- 

1 tains to the castle of Black Roderick, 

and there called thrice beside the 

fgate, and for her it was opened by 

NME? ^ e ^ttle brother, who gazed affright- 

" d and ran from her. 

" What hath come to thee?" quoth 
^^Kshe, and came upon him in his fear. 
And he looked not to her, but spake 
to a knight-at-arms, saying thus : 
"Three times cried the voice of 
y brother's wife at the gates, and 
when I opened for her there was 
none outside." 

So the little bride, hearing, cried 
out in her despair, for she had for- 
gotten that she was no longer as 
these others. 

And when the two heard the cry, 
they were affrighted, and made the 
cross upon their foreheads. 
5* 




^4 







It is the banshee," quoth they 



knight, ''who weeps for some death." 

Seeing they feared her, the little 
bride passed sadly into the castle, g 
and timidly sought the chamber 
where the Black Earl was gone to 
crouch by the glowing fire. 

Now, when Black Roderick looked 
up and saw her, he sprang towards 
her so she was afraid, and flitted be-g 
fore him like a shadow. And when'^ 
he followed up the stair and into^| 
his own chamber, she faded like a 
shadow in the sunshine that came 
through the window, and the wind, 
coming down from the mountains 
and passing through the casement, || 
drew her out upon its breast, and 
bore her back to the hills where her 
body lay awaiting its burial. 

And seeing it there, a misery fell 
upon her, so she raised her head and 
wept. 

"Ahone!" quoth she, "poor body 
that hath no one to weep over thy 
S3 













^ 



#C3 



loneliness, that must lie uncoffined 
f*#and unprayed for, who wast so ten- 
m, derly cared for in thy life! Where 
art thou, my father, where art thou, 
my mother, that this should be? 
And where is he to whom this poor 
body was given to cherish and to 
?" 
And again she went to the castle 
f Black Roderick, and stood beside 
his door, the tears undried upon her 
cheek. And again sprang he tow- 
ards her, so she was afraid, and flew 
before him down the winding stair 
and out into the night, so he could 
no longer see her. 

And again the spirit of the young 
bride went back to the dead upon 
the hill-side, and, seeing it unburied 
and uncofnned, fell into tears. 

"Never," saith she, "shall I now 
reach heaven, if my body lieth with- 
^ out a grave!" 

And so sad was her soul at the 
s® thought that she went in her despair 
54 



P 




to the castle of the Black Earl, and^ 
stood again upon his threshold fiuT 
of tears. 

And when he looked up and saw; 
her he was no longer fierce, but spake 
to her gently. 

"Come hither,' ' quoth he, "my 
sad-faced bride. I would but ask| 
thee one question. Come beside my 
chair." 

But she answered him not at all, 
but withdrew from his presence, as^ 
though bidding him follow. 

Out into the night he followed, 
and pursued her without rest, till 
she almost reached the high hill' 
where her body lay uncoffined. 

And when they came in the morn- 
ing to the little grove upon the side 
of the mountain, she felt a hand 
touch the poor, unmourned-for dead, 
and, with a great fear upon her, 
vanished from his eyes; so he fell 
upon the moss in his disappointment 
and weariness. 

55 







But the spirit of the little bride 

jj?flew to the side of her uncoffined 

p, jDody to protect it from desecration 

her lord had looked upon it. 

JJ^And there she saw the little brother 

^playing by the dead. 

And as she came he turned and 

,;|4^rjran down the mountain, for he had 

Xjj heard the voice of Black Roderick 

<r^.<^f Qcalling ; so the. spirit of the little 

Sbride knew her task was done. And 

|of how the Black Earl found her, 

"and of what he said and did, have I 

§|%£ told thee; but of how the spirit of 

i^ the young bride enwrapped herself 

4& C?about the dead I have not spoken, 

nor of how she thrilled beneath the 

embraces of her lord, whose love she 

had at the last. 

When he stood beside her deep 
grave, that was dug in the little 
church-yard nigh to the castle, her 
spirit rose again from her body, and 
knew her hour of trial had come. 
And when the grave was closed 
56 




pes 




and the mourners gone, the 
stayed by the grave, afraid. 

When evening came, the spirits of 
the dead rose in a white mist, each 
above his grave, and all prepared for 
their swift and dangerous flight tow- 
ards the dark heavens. 

"Now," saith she, "my body can^ 
no longer protect me with its earthly ^ 
presence. I am separated from theQT 
world, and am no more of it. I*!** 
must arise and meet death alone." 

The first thing she knew of the* fij^jf 
great presence was a loud whirring of 
wings; she raised her head, and saw 
around her a crowd of evil birds. 
So afraid was she that she gave al|^ 
loud and sudden cry, and at the '*' 
sound the ill birds rose and hovered 
in the air between her and heaven. 

"My sins have discovered me," she / 
cried, "and now I fear death!" 

And because she knew that before 
dawn she would have to account for 
her evil deeds, she lifted up her voice 
57 








fin loud keening. So sad was her cry 

^that the pitying wind bore it down 

upon his wings into the little village 

?at the foot of the mountain, that the 
people might hear and pray for a 
soul in its passing. 

But the people in the village were 
busy even so late with the harvest, 
and did not hear; only in one house 
[where a mother sat with her sick 



•child did the cry come, and she 
^closed the shutter and fell to prayer. 
*' " Tis the banshee who crieth," she 
whispered, "and my Conneen so ill! 
;ti~^ 'Tis the banshee, and Sheila with the 
p C^cheek of snow. God bid the fairy 
)pass, and set the angels at my door! 
"' Whisht ! ' ' she cried to the playing young 
ones/ ' come beside my chair and pray. ' ' 
^ And of her fear shall I sing, lest 

^ thou grow weary of my prose: 



/a 

SO 



Oh, whisht ! I hear the banshee keen, 

All wo ful is her cry. 
She comes along the gray boreen — 

Pray God she pass us by. 

58 




My wee Conneen is pale and weak, 

I hold him to my side; 
The rose is white on Sheila's cheek 

Since her young lover died. 

The little children from their play 

Creep to me full of fear; 
"Oh, whisht ! the banshee comes , ' ' they say . 

"Whom does she weep for here?" 



But Sheila leaves my chair to go, 
And flings the shutter wide; 

"Be it for me," she whispers low, 
" The banshee keened and cried" 

God be between our house and harm 
For trouble comes full fleet. 

I hold the babe close in my arm; 
The fairy in the street. 



But the wind that blew from the 
hill - side carried the keening of the 
little bride past the village, and blew 
it about the windows of the castle 
wherein Black Roderick dwelt. And 
as the cry keened and called, so did 
the sleepers turn in their beds and 
moan uneasily in their dreaming. 

When the cry passed the windows 
s 59 











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the east, it went to the windows of 
the west, and there it tapped softly 
with fingers of the wind and called 
three times: 

"Roderick! Roderick! Roderick!" 

And at the first call Black Roderick 
turned in his bed and groaned. And 
at the second call he rose from his 
couch and said, in his anger: 

"Who calleth, and will not let me 
rest?" 

But at the third call he rose and 
went to the window in wonder, and 
seeing nothing he crept cold and 
trembling to his bed, muttering the 
alf-forgotten prayers of his child- 
hood; so long he lay in fear and 
amazement that he did not sleep till 
the lark hung singing in the heavens, 
and then he knew the night was gone 
and with it the ghosts that hide in 
the darkness. So he turned his face 
to the wall and slept. But the spirit 
of the little bride was speeding on 
her swift and terrible race to Para- 
60 



dise, and round her whirled threes 
great black birds seeking for her de- 
struction. And as she flew, one, 
caught her by the long hair thatjf 
swept behind her in 
drew her backward. 




"Now," quoth she with a cry, "I^h^J 
can fly upward no longer; some evilH^ 
thing draws me back from heaven. ' 

And as she spoke a voice came out|| 
of the dark skies, and said: 

"Who holdeth back the passing wv/ 
soul?" 

And the voice of the dark bird re- 
plied: 

"Her anger, for she hath not sub- 
mitted to her trials, but held herself 
rebellious; therefore do I draw her 
down." 

And the voice from high paradise 

called out, saying: £h 

1 ' Is there none to come to her suc- 
cor, lest she be brought to her de- 
struction?" ^ 

And a bee humming on the hill- tfe 
61 




^ 






inside, hearing the voice, flew upward 
^and stung the evil bird so it fell 
away into the darkness and was seen 
no more. 

And the voice from the heavens 
cried again, saying: 

"Who hath let the little soul go 
gfree?" 

And the bee answered : 
"Her gentleness, for she loveth all 
things, great and small, and hath fed 
fthe honey-bee when the earth re- 
k fused him its sweets." 

Now, as the spirit of the little 
bride flew upward, freed from the 
grasp of the evil bird, there came 
|Jf upon her again the cruel claws of 
one of those two others that circled 
round her, holding her back upon her 
way. 

"Now," quoth she, "I shall never 
see the kingdom of heaven, and can- 
not reach the doors of paradise," 
and bitter exceedingly was her cry- 
ing. 

62 



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But again a voice came from the| 
dark night, saying: 

"Who holdeth back the coming 
soul from her place in heaven?" 

And the black, evil bird answered : £ 

"Her despair, for she hath not^ 
held her head high above her sor- 
rows, nor hath borne in patience her 
griefs, but hath mourned the afnic- ^ 
tions that were put upon her till her|^ 
heart hath broken under her grief.^ 
Therefore do I draw her down." 

And the voice from high paradise 
called out, saying: 

"Is there none, then, to save her 
from eternal destruction?" 

And a wild bramble upon the 
mountain, hearing the voice, lifted 
itself upward, and, throwing a long 
spray about the evil bird, tore it so 
with its thorns that it loosed its 
claws from the wrist of the young 
bride and flew into the gloom. 

And the voice from the heavens 
cried again, saying: 
63 
















Who hath let the soul go free?" 

And the bramble answered, waft- 
ing the perfume of her flowers up- 
ward: 

"Her sweetness, for her mind is 
beautiful as the song of the linnet, 
and she turneth her foot aside to 
spare the lowly blossoms." 

Now, when once more the spirit of 

|the little bride flew upward, the last 

and greatest of the evil birds fell 

|upon her, and so strong was he and 

so evil that she had no strength to 

go farther. 

"Now," quoth she, "I am lost for- 
ever, and shall see not the fair place 
in paradise that was prepared for 
me." And she gave a loud and de- 
spairing cry. But a voice came 
again from the night, and saith : 

"What evil thing keepeth the fly- 
ing soul upon its way?" 

And the dark bird answered : 

"Her jealousy, for bitter was her 
heart against one whom Black Rod- 
64 




erick had loved ere she became his x 
bride; and for this do I drag her 
down to her destruction." 

And the voice from the high^j 
heavens spoke, saying: 

" Is there none, then, to save 
her?" 

And there looked up from the hill- 
side the bright eyes of the red wea- 
sel, but he crouched in the grasses^ 
without reply. And the grasp of : 
the evil bird became stronger onW 1 
the quivering soul that could no 
longer fly upon its way to heaven. 
And from the great wings of the bird 
black feathers, wrenched out in the 
struggle, flew down upon the earth, 
spreading evil where they fell. 

And the voice from heaven cried 
out again in sorrow exceedingly: 

"Is there none, then, to save this 
soul from destruction?" 

And the bee and the bramble, see- 
ing the red weasel was loath to stir 
from the grasses where he sat watch- 
65 







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ling the desperate battle, fell upon 
him in their fury and forced him to 
rise. 

"Never," quoth they, "shalt thou 
have rest, nor thy children's children 
peace, while there's a bee in the air 
or a flower upon the thorn, if thou 
^goest not to the succor of her we 
love so well." 

Then the red weasel sprang into 
the air and seized the evil bird by 
the throat; so he let go his hold on 
the spirit of the young bride and 
flew away into the darkness. 

And the voice from heaven cried 
out, saying: 

"Who hath let the frail ghost free 
to enter the gates of paradise?" 

And the red weasel answered: 

"Her strength, for she hath con- 
quered her own evil thoughts, and 
put them away forever." 

So the spirit of the young bride 
reached the gates of paradise spent 
c£> and wounded, and there upon the 
66 







m 



threshold stood an angel holding his : 
hand to draw her in. 

When his holy touch fell upon her, 
she rose whole and beautiful, and her; 
breast was full of joy for the moment. 

Now, the spirit of the young bride 
had been but a brief day in the 
golden place of paradise, when she\ 
heard a far voice call upon her name 
in anguish; three times did it call!* 
upon her, and at each cry a sharpy 
sorrow struck her heart, as though a: 
knife had entered therein. 

Now went she to the golden bar of 
heaven, and, leaning forth, looked 
down upon the earth, and she turned' 
her north, and naught did she see 
save the cold face of the night with ^WfiP 
its millions of worlds whirling in the 
dark. And she looked south, and 

naught could she see but the gray of ^ 
clouds heavy with storm; and she 
turned her east, and naught did she 
see save the shimmering blue of a ^ 
summer sky. But when she turned <&, 
67 




^ 



westward, she saw the green 
'earth, and of all upon it she sought 
pone save Black Roderick, who had 
|used her so ill. And there upon his 
bed he lay in danger of death, and as 
he turned in his anguish he called 
soever upon her name, so her heart 
f^t^knew no longer the peace of para- 
dise, and she became as one of the 
tost. 
Therefore did she rise up and ap- 
proach the throne where the saints 
and angels knelt in continual devo- 
tion. But she could not see the 
golden seat, nor Him who sat thereon. 
For around and above, and circling 
ever with rainbow wings, went the 
seraphim and cherubim in eternal 
worship, so it was as though a great 
wheel of light turned continually. 

Now, when the spirit of the little 
bride saw this wonder, she was full 
of fear and dared not approach, but 
turned away weeping; and there, as 
she wept, she saw before her the seat 
68 




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of Mary, the Queen of Heaven, 
ran towards it with unfaltering feet. 

' 'For," quoth she, ''she, too, had 
but one love, and, being woman, will; 
understand." 

So she knelt at the feet of Mary, 
and cried to her: "Pray for me, 
Mother of Christ." And the Virgin^ 
turned to her in wonder at her tears. 

"Art thou not happy," said she, 
"in heaven?" 

And the spirit of the little bride: 
said: "Nay, for the cries of my be- 
loved come upward from the earth 
and call to me in his anguish, so I 
fear he is in danger of death. 5 

"And why doth thou fear death 
for him," said the Virgin Mary, 
"since it may bring to him the hap- 
piness of heaven?" 

"Alas!" said the little bride, "were 
it thus, his cries would not hurt my 
heart so that I cannot hear the song 
of the angels. I fear he is lost for- 



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ever. 






69 




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And what canst thou do, little 
soul," said the Blessed Mary, "to 
save him if he cannot save himself?" 

" I can be with him in his destruc- 
tion." 

Now, as the little soul said this 
terrible thing she fell forward upon 
her face, so afraid was she and so 
despairing. 

' I can stand between him and the 
flames," said she, "and hold my 
wiand beneath the burning waters 
that would fall upon his body." 

And then she lay silent. 

Then the Virgin looked upon her 
pPwith eyes that were all pitiful and 
had much understanding. 

"Thou wilt suffer," saith she, as 
though remembering something, "to 
walk by his side and see his anguish, 
but thou wouldst suffer more wert 
thou forbidden this." 

So Mary rose from her high place 
and went towards the high throne of 
heaven, and as she passed the whirl- 
70 





ing wings of the seraphim and cher- 
ubim ceased to circle, but flew tow-^ 
ards her from the throne. And to % 
the little bride, who crouched afraid^/ 
on the fragrant floor, it seemed as- 
though a great wonder of bees had 
settled on some hidden sweet; count- -»s 
less wings glistened and flashed inp^ 
the strange light that glowed from 
the opening flowers that formed theQ 
floor about the throne. 

In and out, striking together in 
their eagerness to get nearer their 
desire, went the countless wings of 
the angel hosts. 

And from the throne all the time 
there came forth a low singing like 
the humming of bees. As the little 
bride listened there came to her ears 
the voice of the Virgin praying for 
her before the throne of God, and in 
the pauses of the prayer the count- 
less voices of the fluttering seraphim 
and cherubim took up the refrain, 
"Hear us, O Christ." 
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Now suddenly all sound ceased, 

and the fluttering wings moved aside, 

and from their midst strode out a 

^mighty angel of the Lord; and when 

he came upon the frightened soul of 

the little bride he took her by the 

hand, and, leading her to the gates 

of heaven, opened them that she 

might go forth. 

H^j But ere she could pass out he said, 

* *with great sadness: 

Thy little hands and feet are soft 
with the fragrant places of heaven; 
much wilt thou surfer if thou goest 
forth." 

And again he said: 

"How canst thou leave the beauty 
and love of paradise, wherein thou 
mayst enter no more save thou art 
strong enough to conquer great dan- 
gers?" 

But the little soul listened not to 
him, but passed through the gates in 
eager hurry. And as she went the 



*G> angel followed 



her 
72 



with his gaze; 




and so great was his pity — for hel 
thought she might not re-enter the ( 
kingdom of heaven — that tears fell, 
from his eyes upon her hand. Now,; 
when the little bride went forth from 
the gates of heaven a chill wind blew 
upon her, so she wellnigh fell upon 
the earth in anguish; but she took] 
the two tears that had fallen from 
the angel's eyes and hid them in heri 
heart, and she became warm, and; 
the sharp earth did not hurt her feet,^ 
nor did the wind of the cold world 
harm her. 

Now, when the spirit of the little 
bride came to the gates of the castle^ 
wherein dwelt Black Roderick, she 
saw the great changes that had come 
to pass therein, for the day that had 
fallen to her in paradise was as 
seven years on earth. 

With her death had come strife 

and disunion among the clans, and 

now at the walls stood the soldiers 

of her father, and within on his 

73 







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•death-bed the Black Earl who was 
'dying, a prisoner in their hands. 

And as the little bride came to the 
of the garden without the court- 
yard, she saw before them a strange 
and horrible coach. And the only 
light that came from this dark car- 
riage was from the red eyes of the six 
horses who drew it, and their trap- 
rings swept the ground, black and 
-mouldy. Now, the body of this 
<coach was shaped like a coffin, and 
at the head sat the driver. 

When the little bride gazed upon 
him in wonder who he could be, she 
*saw through the misty winding-sheet 
that enfolded him a death's head. 
But when she looked at him who sat 
at the foot of the coffin, she hid her 
face, for it was an evil creature who 
crouched here. 

Now, as the little bride paused at 
the gate of the garden a voice came 
from inside, and said: 

"Wherefore comest thou?" 
74 




And he who sat at the foot of the^ 
coffin answered : 

"Open, for I claim the soul of 
Black Roderick." 

And the voice that was within an- 
swered : 

"Thou shalt come, for his cruelty 
hath driven my young daughter to 
her grave, wherein she lieth while 
the birds sing, and the flowers blos- 
som, and the earth is glad with 
youth and spring." 

So he dropped the bolt and the 
door swung open, so the coach and 
its six horses entered. 

Now, when the driver reached the 
door of the court -yard, he found it 
closed against him, and he drew his 
coach up beside it and called in a 
hollow voice for entrance. 

And one cried from inside: 

"Wherefore comest thou?" 

And he who was inside answered: 

"I claim the soul of Black Rod- 
erick." 







75 





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p 






And the voice replied: 

"Willingly do I open, for he hath 
slain my sweet sister with his chill 
heart and cruel ways, so she lieth in 
the dark earth who was the sunshine 
of our house." 

Then the door swung open so the 
black coach and its six horses could 
enter. 

Again the strange coach drove on, 
till it came to the castle door, and 
there the evil being who was inside 
cast himself upon the ground, and, 
going to the door, knocked thereon 
three times, and a woman's voice 
answered, saying: 

"Who art thou ?" 

And the evil one replied: 

"I am he who claims the soul of 
Black Roderick.' ' 

And the woman said: 

"Welcome thou art, then, for he 

hath destroyed my heart's treasure 

and buried it in the ground; so I go 

sorrowing all my days for the sun er- 

76 




ing he caused her on earth, and for^ 
her young and unready death." 

Then the bolts and the bars fell 
from the door with a great noise, 
and the evil thing entered the castle. 

Now, as Black Roderick lay upon 
his death-bed tossing and turning in 
his fever, there rushed unto him one 
of the serving-men in a great terror 
and fear. 

And of what they spoke together^, 
shall I sing thee, lest thou grow|/ 
weary of my prose: 

There is one at the door, O my master. 
At the door, who is bidding you come! 

Who is he that wakes me in the darkness, 
Calling when all the world's dumb ? 

Six horses has he to his carriage, 
Six horses blacker than the night; 

And their twelve red eyes in the shadows 
Twelve lamps he carries for his light. 

And his coach is a coffin black and mouldy, 

A huge oak coffin open wide; 
He asks for your soul, God have mercy! 

Who is calling at the door outside. 

77 




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Who let him through the gates of my garden. 
Where stronger bolts have never been ? 

*Twas the father of the fair little lady 
Yon drove to her grave so green. 

And who let him pass through the court- yard, 
By loosening the bar and chain ? 

Oh, who but the brother of your mistress 
Who lies in the cold and the rain! 

Then who drew the bolts at the portal 
And into my house bade him go ? 

She, the mother of the poor little colleen 
Who lies in her youth so low. 

Who stands that he dare not enter 
The door of my chamber between ? 

Oh, the ghost of the fair little lady 
Who lies in the church-yard green. 

Now, when the evil one saw the 
spirit of the young bride at the door, 
her arms spread out in the form of a 
cross, he did not know what to do. 
And had not Black Roderick, in his 
joy and desire, sprung from his bed 
on hearing the voice of his mistress 
bidding him fear not, all perchance 
had gone well. 

78 



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^ 



But Roderick, sick and eager for^j 
the sight of his bride, flung open the' 
door, and was seized by the evil one 
and carried away. Now, the spirit; 
of the little bride followed the hor-|^ 
rible coach that contained her love, ^ 
even to the flaming gates of hell, and 
there the evil one stopped and looked 
upon her with desire. 

''Better," quoth he, "a thousand 
t l 'mes to let go this wretched fellow,^ 
who will surely return to me later, if ^ 
I can gain this soul who hath come 
even out of the kingdom of heaven." 

And, turning to the poor little 
bride, he said: 

"Give thou thyself to me, and I 
will let this love of thine return to the 
world to work out his redemption." 

But the little soul, weeping, saith : 

"Nay, my soul belongeth to Christ 
in heaven, and I must not give it to 
thee; but for seven years shall I be 
thy slave if thou givest this dear one 
to me at the end." 
79 








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So the evil one thought to himself : 
4 Would I could steal this white soul 
( from heaven to be the greatest gem 
in my crown of triumph, and to serve 
me seven years. At the end of that 
time her heart will incline to evil, 
and she will become mine." 

And again she spoke to him, and 
of what she said I shall sing thee, 
lest thou grow weary of my prose : 

// you will let his young soul go free, 
I will serve you true and well, 

For seven long years to be your slave 
In the bitterest place of hell. 

1 ' Seven long years if you be my slave 

I will let his soul go free" 
The stranger drew her then by the hand, 

And into the night went he. 

Seven long years did she serve him true 

By the blazing gates of hell, 
And on every soul that entered in 

The tears of her sorrow fell. 

Seven long years did she keep the place 

To open the doors accurst, 
And every soul that her tear-drops knew, 

It would neither burn nor thirst. 
80 




And once she let in her father dear 

And once her brother through, 
Once came a friend she had loved full well: 

Oh, bitter it was to do ! 

Now, no toil in the great halls of 
the evil one could have been more 
bitter to endure than to unbar the 
door for the lost souls; for her sweet! 
tenderness was tortured most of all 
by the despairing ghosts that passed© 
to their eternal perdition, and her-^w 
hands felt guilty at letting them gojffljn 
through. 

But of all the sorrows none was so 
great as for her eyes to see the tort- 
ures of Black Roderick, who stood 
beside her in his anguish, for the 
tears that fell upon him from her 
eyes gave him no relief, since he had 
injured her on earth. She held her 
hands to hold the fiery waters that 
fell upon him, and her tender body 
strove to stand between him and his 
tortures in vain. Seeing her so en- 
deavoring, the evil one spoke, saying : 
81 







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S*3 



' What hast thou about thee, little 
'soul, that thou art free from my fire 
and torments?" 

Then the little bride remembered 

the tears she had hidden in her heart, 

that had fallen upon her in heaven 

from the angel's eyes, and she drew 

lit hem forth. 

And the tears spoke to her, say- 
ng: 

Put us not away, lest the tor- 

ents overpower thee, so thou mayst 
never come to the kingdom of 
heaven." 

But the little bride lifted them 
upon the heart and mouth of Black 
Roderick, so he suffered no more the 
cruel tortures of the lost. Now, 
when the evil one saw this, he smiled 
to himself, "For," quoth he, "now 
will she know temptations, since she 
hath put away the angel's tears, and 
hath no protection save her own 
strength." 

And so bitter were her sufferings 

82 




that the little bride cried out it was 
more than she could bear. 

And the evil one, hearing her, said: 

"Give thyself to me, and thonp, 
shalt suffer no more." ifc 

But she turned her face away, and 
made him no answer. 

Then Black Roderick, looking upong 
her, saw her anguish, and to his soul 
came such bitter repentance that 
great tears fell from his eyes upon 
her, and every tear was as baling, 
upon her sad and suffering flesh. So 
that when the seven years were over 
she stood whole and without pain. 

Now, when the seven long years 
were at an end, she found the flam- 
ing doors opened of themselves for 
her and Black Roderick to go forth. 
But when she took her love by the 
hand, a great cry rose from the lost 
souls she had let into the burning 
place during her seven years of trial. 
And in her heart was such grief she 
could not go. She heard her father's 
83 













^ 



^voice call to her, and the voice of 
her brother. Therefore went she to 
{$> the throne of the evil one, and 
^begged him to grant her a boon. 

"For I have worked long for thee 
and well," quoth she, "and I beg of 
_ thee to let me carry forth as much 
^treasure as my strength can bear." 

'That," saith he, "thou shalt 

x 3have; all thou canst carry thou 

,^mayst take forth, if thou wilt give 

^\§me for payment seven more years of 

ft * service." 

Now, when the little bride heard 
this she bowed her head and wept. 

'Seven long years," saith she, 
"shall I serve thee more." She took 
Black Roderick by the hand, and 
stood by him at the open doors. 
"Go thou upward," saith she, "and 
await me in heaven." 

Then she closed the flaming gates, 

and took her place behind them. 

But the soul of Black Roderick 

crouched outside, as a dog lieth on 

84 



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the threshold of his master. For 
seven long years he let no one ap- 
proach the naming gates, so that not 
once were they opened during the^ 
last seven years of her trial. And 
when the day came for her to go 
forth, the little bride flung the gates 
apart with a loud cry of joy. She 
knew the evil one could but grant 
the promise she had extorted, for 
she had served him well. 

And of the further trials and 
temptations that came to her shall I 
sing thee, lest thou grow weary of 
my prose : 

Seven long years did she serve him well 

Until the last day was done; 
And all the souls she had let in, 

They clung to her one by one. 



And all the souls she had let through, 
They clung to her dress and hair, 

Until the burden that she brought forth 
Was heavy as she could bear. 

The first who stopped upon her way 
Was a Saint all fair to see, 

85 







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s& 




And "Sister, your load is great" she said, 
"So give it, I pray, to me." 

"Brigit I am; God sent me forth 
That you to your love might go " — 
i\ The woman she drew the fair robe aside, 
hi And a cloven hoof did show. 

" And I will not give it to you," she said, 
Quick grasping her burden tight; 

And all the souls that surrounded her 
Clung closer in dire affright. 



The next who stopped her upon her way 
Was an angel with sword aflame; 



■ • 

■ s$" The Lord has sent for your load," he said: 
"St. Michael it is my name." 



^ 



The woman drew back his gown of white, 

And the cloven hoof did see. 
"Oh, God be with me this day," she said, 

"For bitter my sorrows be." 

"And I will not give it to you," she said, 

And wept full many a tear. 
And all the souls that her burden made 

Cried out in desperate fear. 



& 



Now, the spirit of the poor little 
bride stopped upon her way, and 
a® feared to go farther, for she knew 
86 



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m 

not what to do nor where to go, and 
it seemed as though there were none 
to trust. And as she stood, with 
the trembling souls clinging to her, 
from the far - off earth came the {/%$ 
sweet singing of a robin; and as the 
bird sang he came nearer and nearer, 
till the little bride could see his red 
throat pulsing with his song. And 
the song he bore upon his beak was| 
her mother's prayer. 

Now, when the soul of the little^ 
bride heard this sweet singing, she 
became strong, and followed the bird 
even to the gates of heaven; and 
there she paused, trembling, afraid 
to knock, for she had gone forth of 
her own free will, and she had re- 
turned with a burden that she had 
no leave to bring. 

"And without these dear ones 
how could I enter?" saith she; and 
the souls trembled with her in her 
fear. 

But the robin tapped upon the 
87 



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golden gates three times with his 
beak, and flung his song into the 
shining blue of the skies. 

Then a voice came forth, saying: 

"By what right comest thou, of 
all birds, to disturb the peace of 
paradise with thy singing?" 

And the robin answered: 

"Because I alone, of all birds, 
strove to draw forth the cruel nails 
in Calvary; so my breast is ever red 

th the sacred blood." 

"And what song bearest thou 
upon thy bill," saith the voice, 
"that would be welcome here?" 

"The prayer of a mother for the 
soul of her little child," quoth the 
robin. 

When he saith this the doors of 
paradise were opened, and upon the 
threshold stood one of the archangels 
of the Lord, and his face was glad 
and glorious as the sun. And when 
he saw the little bride, with her bur- 
6&> den of trembling souls clinging to 




her dress 
enter. 

"Thou hast done well," saith he, 
"and there is joy in heaven over thy; 
return." 

And as he led her by the hand the 
souls dropped from her and flew 
through the golden gates with loudi 
cries of joy. 

So brought she to heaven the souk 
of Black Roderick, that had been- 
lost but for her great and suffering: 
love. And from the closed gates 
none came forth save the little robin. 

Now must I end my tale, lest thou 
grow weary of the telling. 

And if more thou requirest, listen 
thou to the robin, who alone of all ^V^Q 
birds hath seen the glories of para- 
dise, and who telleth to all men, if 0f 
they would but hear, his pride and 
his joy. Even in winter, when snow 
and hunger chill him almost to death, 
when all other birds are silent with 
discontent, he sitteth upon a low q> 
89 







/bough and telleth the story of Black 
Roderick and his little bride, and of 
many things good to the heart of 
man. Listen thou and hearken. 



THE END 






I K)6 



